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“What do you mean, colours?”
For a moment, I think he hasn’t heard me. I imagine him standing there, his eyes focused on what lies beyond those windows.
“How old were you when you lost your vision?”
“Seven.” I reply.
“What colours do you remember?” I close my eyes. At first, there is only a familiar darkness. But then, the palette starts to brighten.
I see my mom’s wavy hair ..” Yellow” I whisper.
My toy car….”Red”
The beaches … “Blue”
“They’re all there, child” I hear his words, but the catch in his voice is even more audible.
“Why are you crying?”
I feel him bend down and place his arms around me, hugging me tightly, as the sounds outside grow nearer. “Imagine all those wonderful colours together”
“Like a rainbow?” “No. Even more splendid. The whole sky is just painted in all these lovely colours. Can you see it ?”
I keep my eyes closed and slowly all the colours start to appear. They flutter around, coalescing with each other indiscriminately. They envelop me within their vibrancy and I am one with them.
“Yes. Yes I see it.” I feel his cheeks widen as he smiles A moment later, the missile hits our building. I hear its deafening fury and feel the scorching heat but I see it not. In my eyes, I see only the last image my Abba painted for me.
They are the most beautiful images I have ever seen.

Authors note : The above post, my attempt at short fiction, was first published in Tamarind Rice for the theme 'Colours', a fun free e-magazine where I will be a guest writer cook. Well, it's kind of like the animated movie 'Ratatouille' and like Alfredo Linguini, I'll be allowed to contribute till the creative heads there realise the truth - that a rat could do a better job than me!

Anyway, if you feel you have an anecdote/ review/ a good picture/ a heartfelt poem to share or just want to win their monthly contests and win free goodies, you can subscribe to their Facebook page or get free updates in your mail and participate to get published in their monthly magazine.

There's one last hoop in my hand. The stationary fixed rod stands a couple of metres away. I have landed the previous three hoops right onto it and know I can do it again. In front of me are two marks in chalk, the number '10' at my feet and '5' a few paces ahead. Behind me, the next two numbers in the sequence are marked in white as well on the floor. I am 14 years old. It is a character development program for students organised at a rotary club. You score points (based on the mark you stand on) for each successful attempt to land the hoop. Five attempts. I have 30 points from four attempts. One more from this familiar spot and I am assured of second place with 40 points. The present leader has 45 points, I know.

Part of the process was to make your own decisions and to this day I don't regret my choice. I take two steps back onto the '20' line. I spend a few extra seconds sizing up the new distance between me and the vertical rod and toss the final hoop in the air. I watched it swirl in the air as it heads towards it's destination.

“You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true.

You may have to work for it however.”

― Richard Bach, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah

I have always been a dreamer. By nature, I am an introvert and pacifist, but against the expected norm, that never stopped me from chasing the impossible. To have a goal in life is normal for us all. But it is the outlandish goal that I speak of here. The one which is surely out of reach... the one in a million shot. I speak of it today because I have one such outlandish dream.

By logic, I have no right to even hope for it. The odds against me succeeding are not even worth mentioning. I neither know the path to my dream, nor can I be certain that the dream won't die at any given instant. If you knew what I was up against and the obstacles that stood before me, depending on our relationship, you would either openly mock me or you would try to let me down gently, knowing fully well that I have no right to succeed.

I had mentioned awhile back that I would be getting published in a book early in 2013. Well, that day has now come.

It isn't just the unique cover.Right from the start, Fablery's writing contest looked to set itself apart from the others. While there were many contests on short stories based on love, Fablery focused on ten unique genres in a contest spanning an entire year. The stories in this contest were longer and more fleshed out that your basic 3000-word short stories, allowing for more character development, intrigue and (my favourite) kahaani mein twists along the ride.

The best stories from each genre were selected at the end of the month and are now available as Fablery's first anthology 'Ten Shades of Life' ( Mahaveer Publishers). Much like the genres, the authors involved include people from very different walks of life, including IT professionals and software engineers, movie screenplay writers and Horror Writers Association members (gulp!), popular Indian bloggers and yes, one anaesthesiologist who maybe inhaling one too many mind-altering drugs at work as well. Rather than a buying a book without knowing what you're getting, here is an extended preview of all the genres and stories in this book to help you decide.

As a kid, one of my favourite genres was the spy thriller. Not necessarily the James Bond variety, though. I preferred the more intellectually stimulating variety that kept you guessing as chapter after chapter unfolded. Spies, double agents, red herrings, hidden agendas - the works.

Shatrujeet Nath's debut novel reminded me of those days again. In 'The Karachi Deception', the Indian Army intelligence and RAW combine to form a team to take down an underworld don, hiding within the safe havens of Pakistan (sound familiar ?). Leading his special ops team and managing inflated bureaucratic egos proves to be the least of Major Imtiaz's worries as the mission - 'Project Abhimanyu' runs into one brick wall after another after entering Pakistan. It soon becomes obvious that not everyone is playing for the same team as their jersey would indicate and that the mission has been compromised right from the very beginning. In this scenario, the team must now determine not just who they can trust any more but also whether they can still complete the mission. Does Project Abhimanyu end up being a success or are the team doomed to end up like the ill-fated son of Arjun from the Mahabharatas ?

With elections around the corner, these words will once again invade your lives. You have to do your duty and vote. Your vote will lead India towards the glorious future that beckons it.Only I won't be there with you when the queues start to form next year.

You see, I won't be voting.

If I don't vote, I don't have a right to complain, isn't it? Okay. I accept.

But then, are you ready to accept responsibility for all that we suffered the last few years? Why do you assume you are free of guilt when it was your vote that allowed rapists, murderers and communal fanatics to enter Parliament and behave like roadside hooligans at the cost of taxpayers like you and me?

What did you actually know about the person you voted for last time? Was he honest or just powerful? Was he allowed to make a decision for his constituency or was he just another slave to dynasty or non-political outfits? When his fellow partymen were being caught in acts of violence, money laundering or just plain stupidity, did your elected politician make you proud by standing up against them and denouncing them ?

If you didn't know his abilities or didn't even expect him to stand for what was right, then what were you voting for... the lesser evil? Are we so vile and incompetent that we can't find seven hundred honest men in a population of over a billion? One honest, decent Indian in roughly 17 lakh individuals. That was too much to ask for?

This coming elections, don't vote for a lesser evil. The country deserves better than that.